


It's Just a Summer Thing

by g33kyclassic



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik Has Feelings, Fluff, Football | Soccer, M/M, Summer Camp, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-01 06:55:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21427033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g33kyclassic/pseuds/g33kyclassic
Summary: Erik, new to America and not fitting in at all, gets the opportunity of a lifetime: an invitation to an elite summer soccer camp.  Erik is hoping to improve as a player, his mother is hoping he'll make friends.  Over the years he does both, and maybe, just maybe, he finds something more than a friend.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 85
Kudos: 138





	1. Chapter 1: Summer 2001

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta for helping edit this fluffy sweetness.
> 
> I would like to say, before you begin, that I am not a soccer expert. I am, in fact, barely a casual fan. So if there are any horrible soccer inaccuracies, I apologize in advance.

**Summer 2001**

Erik set his bag down on the narrow bed and carefully began putting his things away. It was only his second summer in America, and he’d been given what could be the opportunity of a lifetime.

Three months ago, he’d been kicking around a ball with a couple of classmates on his very unimpressive school soccer team. In response to some teasing (when would people finally get over his accent?) he’d dribbled around the bullies and made a precision shot into the net. His coach had caught the moment and demanded that Erik show the other boys his skills. After a thorough demonstration of his ball handling skills and shooting accuracy his coach had held him back after practice and said he might be able to get Erik into an elite level summer soccer camp run by an old friend.

Now, Erik was here, at the best summer soccer camp on the east coast of the United States. He also seemed to be, as far as he could tell, the youngest player. At thirteen Erik was tall and lanky, but still most of the other boys, already in high school, towered over him. His room mate, a hulking sixteen year old, had taken one look at him after Erik introduced himself, scrunched up his nose and stalked out of the room yelling about being stuck with a “little baby who talked funny”.

As much as his mother hoped he would finally make some friends, it didn’t look like the boys here at soccer camp were going to like him any better than the kids at school. At least he was going to get to play every day – all of August and nothing to do but play football and run drills. Sounded like the perfect month to Erik, friends or no friends.

Erik changed quickly into his kit and jogged outside. He lined up with the other boys and waited for their coaches to arrive.

Five minutes later a middle-aged man with slicked back hair, and a shorter man with the broadest shoulders and most ridiculous hairstyle Erik had ever seen marched over to the field, trailed by a skinny kid carrying three binders and basket full of water bottles. Erik had a few seconds to wonder if the boy was the son of one of the coaches before the man with the oily slicked back hair started talking.

“Welcome to the Shaw Summer Soccer camp. Each of you has been invited here personally by me. I saw potential in each and every one of you. That likely makes you feel good, feel proud. Well that all ends now. Over this month I am going to tear you apart and put you back together again. If you do what I ask, if you put in every bit of your effort, you will improve. Some of you likely have pipe dreams of a professional career, well you’d better put those dreams aside, because as of right now you are nothing. I will call you by your assigned numbers and if, if, you manage to impress me I might bother to learn your names.”

Erik stared at Coach Shaw and refused to drop his gaze, though he could feel the boys beside him shuffling their feet uncomfortably. Erik wasn’t about to be intimidated by an ex-professional player years past his prime on a power trip, lording himself over a bunch of pubescent boys. 

Erik knew an asshole when he met one, and Coach Shaw was clearly that. Over the course of the afternoon, Shaw ran them for miles – laps and laps around the field until a few of the boys threw up. He made them do the simplest of drills, many of the others muttering under their breath about being treated like children who’d never handled a ball before. Shaw yelled and raged and criticized every little thing everyone did, from how they kicked a ball, to how they tied their shoes.

If Shaw was harsh to the players, he was worse to the small boy beside him – running him ragged with tasks, insulting him every other word, and at one point unexpectedly dosing him with water causing the boy to stand stock still in shock, dripping all over the binders. Shaw of course blamed him for the now soaking wet notes and instructed him to have everything dried out and perfectly legible by tomorrow.

Through it all, Erik held his tongue. Shaw was a bastard, but Erik was going to learn everything he could from him. Besides, every boy who’d spoken up, to protest or argue, had so far been given extra laps and push-ups. Erik wasn’t sure he could do a push-up at this point anyway.

After eating more for dinner than ever before in his life and taking a much longer, hotter shower than usual, Erik was not entirely surprised to find his room mate had locked and blocked their door so Erik couldn’t get back into the room.

Erik wandered back down to the cafeteria. Maybe he could sleep there; the tables wouldn’t be too uncomfortable, or so he hoped. Erik was rummaging around in the kitchen, looking for something to use for a blanket and pillow when he heard footsteps behind him. Glancing over his shoulder he saw the skinny brown haired boy who been assisting Shaw earlier in the day.

“Hello.” The boy said, smiling shyly. “Did you get locked out of your room too?”

Erik stared at the boy, momentarily stunned by his crisp English accent.

“My room mate doesn’t like me.” He replied eventually. “He blocked the door.”

The boy nodded in understanding. “Mine stole my key. Coach Shaw said it was my responsibility to get it back, but seeing as my room mate is twice my size, I’m not sure how he thinks I can accomplish that.”

“Coach Shaw is an asshole.” Erik grumbled. “Are you here to play soccer too?” Erik asked.

The boy was so small, at least half a head shorter than Erik himself. Erik didn’t think he could possibly be old enough to be invited to the camp.

“Well, yes. I was invited.” The boy frowned and bit his lip. “But coach Shaw made it clear when I arrived that I was the worst player here. He said I wouldn’t be allowed on the field unless I could prove myself worthy.”

“How are you supposed to do that if you can’t play?”

“Excellent question, my friend.” The boy chuckled sadly.

Erik was torn between telling them boy they weren’t friends, they had just met, and asking him his name. There was something intriguing about him that made Erik want to risk opening himself up and trying to make a friend.

“What’s your name?” He asked, decision made.

“Oh! Terribly sorry, how rude of me.” The other boy apologized, and then thrust his hand forward. “I’m Charles, Charles Xavier.”

Erik reached out to grasp Charles’ hand and shook it firmly. “Erik Lehnsherr.”

“It’s very nice to meet you Erik.” Charles smiled, his white teeth flashing in the dim light of the kitchen.

“I found some aprons and tablecloths in the cupboard.” Erik gestured behind him.

“Brilliant!” Charles exclaimed.

After working together to create a makeshift bed, Erik and Charles laid down, resting on top of the rubber floor mats and covered with scratchy tablecloths.

“How old are you?” Erik asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Twelve, but my birthday is before the end of the year, so I was just eligible for camp. I know I look younger, I just… I never seem to grow as fast as everyone else.” Charles shrugged.

“You’re the youngest one here then.” Erik said, impressed even if Shaw had refused to let Charles take the field.

“Not that it matters, since Shaw won’t let me play.”

“We’ll just have to find a way to get you on the field.” Erik said, determined that Charles would get his chance.

“Even if I don’t, at least I’ve made a friend.” 

Erik looked over at Charles, who was smiling at him again.

“We are friends, yes?” Charles asked, his smile fading slightly.

“We are.” Erik nodded quickly. “Friends.”

Charles’ smile widened again and Erik found his own lips curling upward, returning Charles’ smile with one of his own. A friend. What a strange and wonderful thing.

* * *

Having a friend was new and continuously surprising. After two years getting by without anything remotely close to a friend, Erik had almost forgotten how friendship worked. Charles never seemed bothered by his awkwardness though, he just smiled and clapped Erik on the back as if every frown and scowl Erik sent his way was completely normal.

Erik could not imagine having a better friend than Charles. Charles who listened to everything Erik said like it was the most interesting thing he’d ever heard. Charles who had nothing but positive things to say about Erik’s football skills. Charles who actually called the game football, not soccer, like all the other boys. Charles who was smart and funny and somehow made Erik laugh every day. Charles who slept beside him on rubber mats every night because neither of them could get back into their rooms. Not that Erik cared much anymore. He’d rather sleep with Charles in the kitchen any day than share his room with his asshole room mate.

For Charles, Erik woke up early every morning and went for a run around the grounds. Charles insisted he had to keep himself in shape, just in case Shaw eventually let him on the field. Charles had also managed to sweet talk the assistant coach, Mr. Howlett, into letting him join their off-field training sessions. So whenever they hit the gym to lift weights, or even when Mr. Howlett made them take yoga classes, Charles was there, gamely doing his best despite the teasing from the other boys. If that idiot Victor called Charles a ‘tot’ one more time, Erik was going to punch him in the nose, consequences be damned.

After three weeks of psychological and physical torture from Shaw on the field, and pure physical exhaustion thanks to coach Howlett in the gym, Erik was making it through soccer camp on pure spite. Charles, however, was somehow, miraculously, making it through the weeks on a combination of idealistic optimism and a never-ending sugar high. Charles was able to maintain his sugar high because he had the kitchen staff completely wrapped around his finger and they gave him mounds of pastries and chocolate pudding every day. It was ridiculous.

Erik’s hopes that Charles would finally make it onto the soccer pitch were slowly dwindling. There were only five days left of camp and Shaw had yet to even mention to the group that Charles could play soccer at all. Aside from Erik, everyone else seemed to think Charles was just some lackey, there to run around at Shaw’s beck and call, fetching water, scribbling notes, and keeping the binders full of plays and drills organized.

Finally, on the last Tuesday, four days before the end of camp, disaster struck. The Summers brothers, Alex and Scott, always prone to rough play when facing off against each other, had an epic and catastrophic collision. It was clear within moments of Mr. Howlett jogging over, that neither of them would be playing for the rest of the afternoon and given the way Scott’s ankle was jutting out unnaturally, he was likely headed to the hospital.

Erik did feel bad for both the brothers – they were good players, if too fond of aggressive plays to make up for the gaps in their game. However, he was also focused on the fact that with two players injured (they were now down five players total since the beginning of camp due to injury or those who had just plain quit), Coach Shaw now didn’t have enough players to field a full two teams for their scrimmage; they were now playing 8 versus 6. And Erik wasn’t the only one who’d noticed – most of the other boys were already arguing about who was going to switch teams.

Shaw, always quick to assert his dominance, strode forward as the Summers’ brothers limped off the field with Mr. Howlett.

“Quit your yakking! The only one who gets to decide who plays where is me!” Shaw shouted at the group.

“Why doesn’t he play?” Erik commented, pointing at Charles and keeping his voice as casual as possible.

If Shaw suspected for one minute Erik cared about his answer, there was no way he would let Charles onto the field. And Charles, clearly knowing this as well as Erik did, kept his head down, nose in the binder, not reacting at all to Erik’s suggestion.

Shaw looked at Charles like Charles was something smelly under his nose. “Him?” Shaw snorted. “What do you think boy? I bet you couldn’t last five minutes out there with the big boys before they crush you like a bug.” Shaw smirked. “I’ll tell you what, if you can get inside and get into your gear and be back in five minutes, you can take the field. If you take more than five minutes, I’ll give the janitors the night off and you can clean the locker room from top to bottom.”

Charles stood frozen in place, his muscles tense in anticipation.

“Get your ass moving, time started five seconds ago!” Shaw yelled.

Charles took off, but he didn’t make for the residence as expected, instead he made a beeline to the bleachers, and came running back bag in hand. In front of Shaw and all the other boys, Charles stripped out of his pants and jacket, to reveal his soccer kit underneath, then he kicked off his sneakers and took his cleats out of his bag. In what must have been two minutes flat Charles was standing on the field, perfectly attired, ready to play and grinning from ear to ear. Shaw was so red with rage he looked like his head might explode any moment.

“Get moving!” Shaw finally yelled, causing the boys to scatter to the field, taking their positions.

Erik was so excited to finally see Charles play he couldn’t keep the grin off his face. He wasn’t disappointed.

That first afternoon, Charles wasn’t able to show much of his skill – he was rusty from not having played and his team mates ignored him to such a degree that not a single one of them passed to him.  
Even Erik had to admit he looked a bit ridiculous on the field, a head shorter than most of the other players, he looked like a little boy who’d accidentally wandered onto the pitch. 

But the next day, when he finally got a foot on the ball… well then no one could doubt Charles was meant to be there.

Charles was fast. He was fast and his footwork was impeccable. He wasn’t as big or as strong as the other players, and more than once over the last few days of camp he paid the price of taking on a much larger player and was tackled, falling down hard and making Erik’s anxiety spike. But he always got right back up again.

What Charles didn’t have in size, he more than made up for in awareness. He seemed to have an unnaturally ability to know where everyone was on the field, as if he knew what people were going to do and exactly where they were going to go. He could read a play on the field like he was reading a book, which made him a deadly set-up man; passing balls to open team mates and giving them scoring chances over and over again.

The only reason Erik’s side didn’t lose every scrimmage, was because everyone Charles set-up seemed too stunned to shoot accurately and when they finally got their heads back into the game, Erik’s team was too far ahead to catch. By the end of the week, with Charles’ team finally, grudgingly accepting his skill, the scrimmages became tightly contested battles, often ending in a draw.

Lying down beside Charles in the kitchen on their last night at camp, Erik found himself at a loss for words. Having a friend for four weeks had been the best part of soccer camp, the best part of his summer. Erik didn’t want it to end but he had no idea how to express that to Charles.

“Erik,” Charles said, looking at him seriously, “this has been the best summer of my life. Meeting you… I don’t have many friends, people find me… odd. I cannot begin to tell you how wonderful it’s been to have you by my side. I wish we didn’t have to leave. I’d much rather stay here with you than go back home.”

“Me too.” Erik managed to get out, thankful Charles knew how to say all the things he couldn’t.

“Promise me you’ll do everything you can to come back here next summer? So we can be together again?” Charles asked, voice hushed.

“I promise.” Erik vowed.

He meant it – he would do whatever it took to get back to Shaw’s camp and to Charles.


	2. Summer 2012

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next are quite a bit shorter than the first, just a heads up. Each chapter follows one summer at the soccer camp and some of them are more eventful than others :).

**Summer 2002**

The dull grey dormitory beckoned, but Erik didn’t much care about going back inside and meeting his room mate. Instead he was waiting out here on the lawn until Charles arrived. That was far more important.

Erik felt his eyebrows raise when a sleek black car rolled up to the drop off point. An oversized beast of a teenaged boy climbed out of the side nearest Erik, but much to Erik’s delight Charles floppy brown hair emerged from the other side of the car.

Erik lifted his arm to give Charles a happy wave, only to stop at Charles frantic look and the desperate shaking of his head. He let his hand drop, confused as he watched what had to be the driver of the car, dressed in uniform, complete with hat, unload baggage from the truck of the car. It seemed his reunion with Charles was going to have to wait.

Late in the evening, Erik made his way down to the kitchen. He’d barely seen Charles since he’d arrived, the chaos of twenty teenage boys unpacking and milling about keeping them separated. He hoped he might find Charles here, in their place, where they’d slept so many nights last year.

“Charles?” He frowned, striding forward when he saw a small form hunched over in the corner of the kitchen. “Charles?” He repeated, touching Charles’ knee gently.

“I’m sorry about earlier Erik.” Charles said softly, his head still tucked into his knees.

“Won’t you look at me, Charles?” Erik asked.

Charles sighed and lifted his head to meet Erik’s gaze.

“Who did this to you!” Erik growled taking in Charles’ bloodied lip and swollen cheek.

“I’m afraid my roommate this year is even worse than the last.” Charles confessed.

“You’re roommate did this to you?”

“My step-brother. He was at the car earlier today, you would have seen him. He’s at the camp this summer and we… we don’t get on very well.”

“You don’t get on very well, or he’s a jerk who pushes you around?” Erik asked, though he felt he already knew the answer.

“I was hoping he wouldn’t come, he’s really not that great a player, but my step-father pulled some strings, and well…” Charles sighed. “I think I have my mother to blame for the fact that we’re roommates. I have a feeling I’ll be sleeping down here again this year.” Charles smiled sadly. “I can’t imagine your roommate is so bad as mine.”

“If you think you’re going to sleep down here, on the best bed in the place, alone without me, you have another thing coming, Xavier.” Erik sat down beside Charles, pulling a stack of table clothes closer.

“Oh, my friend.” Charles leaned his head onto Erik’s shoulder. “I am so glad you’re here.”

“Where else would I be?” Erik commented. “We made a promise, didn’t we? I keep my promises.”

“We both did.” Charles replied. “We’ll have another wonderful summer, I’m sure.”

* * *

The summer was horrible.

Shaw remained an absolute asshole. Charles and Erik were on separate teams every scrimmage and Shaw seemed to be doing his best to keep them apart in every drill no matter how careful they were to try to keep their friendship a secret from him. 

Worst of all, Charles was continually getting beaten up by his step-brother and Erik spent hours every week tending to his wounds: applying band aids, wrapping his ribs, and stealing bags of frozen peas to apply to Charles’ swollen face. Shaw did nothing about it – in fact any time Cain tackled Charles on the field (and he was always far too rough and often far too late with his tackles) Shaw simply turned a blind eye.

The only bright point was coach Howlett, who let them train beside each other in the gym, who gave Charles compliments on his flexibility in yoga class, and who appeared to be the only person besides Erik who’d even noticed Charles’ endless injuries. After Erik had had to bind Charles’ ribs and every movement seemed to cause him incredible pain, coach Howlett was the one who took Charles to the hospital and let him do all his off-field training in the pool for a week so he could recover. He’d even let Erik join Charles and the enjoyment of being in the pool with his friend almost outweighed the anger Erik felt every time he saw Charles torso mottled with various bruises.

Coach Howlett must have said something to Cain as well, because the last week of camp, Charles was brighter and Erik didn’t have to treat any more injuries in the kitchen in the evenings.

“Next year will be better.” Charles whispered to him their last night of camp. “Cain is graduating and he won’t be able to come to camp next summer. It will just be you and me.”

Erik looked over at Charles’ bright smile and returned it with a toothy grin of his own.

“Yeah. Next summer will be better.” He agreed.


	3. Summer 2003

**Summer 2003**

The next summer was worse. It was the worst summer of Erik’s life: Erik made it to Shaw’s camp, but Charles never showed.

Halfway through what had become the dullest, greyest summer of his life, Erik overheard one of the other players, a rich entitled brat named Warren, saying Charles had got into camp again, but hadn’t been able to come. 

Erik stalked the other boy for the rest of day until he found him alone and pushed him up against a wall to demand answers.

“Do you really know Charles?” He asked, arm pushing Warren’s chest firmly into the wall behind him.

“Yeah!” Warren nodded frantically. “I do, man! I play against him during the school year.” Erik pushed Warren harder, still suspicious. “I swear, I know him.” Warren cried.

“Why isn’t he here?” Erik demanded.

“He couldn’t come.” Warren said.

“Why?” Erik growled, giving Warren a firm shove against the wall.

“He broke his leg man!” Warren cried. “He broke his fucking leg, like just a couple weeks before camp. I heard from my dad. Charles’ step-father and my dad do business together sometimes and he told my dad. It’s too bad, Charles is a good player.”

Erik eased his gripped off of Warren, and backed away.

“Yeah.” He agreed. “Charles is a good player.”

“I’m sure he’ll be back next year.” Warren said, rubbing his hand over his chest. “You’re the friend from soccer camp Charles talks about, I guess?”

“Yeah.” Erik answered, scowling at Warren, though inwardly pleased to know Charles talked about him outside of camp.

“He didn’t say you were fucking nuts, man.” Warren shook his head at Erik as he started to walk away. “No wonder you too are friends, you’re both freaks.”

Erik bared his teeth at Warren as he beat a hasty retreat. He spent the last two weeks of camp making Warren (the goalie for the opposing scrimmage team) look like a complete idiot on the field by scoring on him at least once a day. It was partially satisfying.

Erik knew he wouldn’t truly be happy and satisfied at Shaw’s camp until Charles was at his side again. When he got home, he joined his mother at temple for the first time since his father died. His mother was ecstatic. Erik didn’t have the heart to tell her he’d only gone to ask g-d to help Charles’ leg heal well so he could see him again next summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've stuck with me this far, through the not super fluffy stuff - thank you!
> 
> This is the last short chapter and I promise, the fluff is coming :)


	4. Summer 2004

**Summer 2004**

“Erik!”

Erik turned quickly away from unpacking his suitcase to find Charles standing in his doorway, grinning from ear to ear. His stomach did a quick nauseating flip before it settled back down. Charles was here.

“You’re here.” He said dumbly.

“I am.” Charles’ smile softened. “I am ever so sorry for last summer, Erik. So very sorry.”

Charles stepped into the room as he spoke, suitcase in hand.

“I think I’ve found a way to make up for it though...” Charles said hesitantly, placing his suitcase on the bed opposite Erik’s.

“Are you… are we room mates?” Erik asked, afraid to even hope for such a perfect thing.

Charles beamed at him. “Did you know you can request a room mate? My mother was filling out the forms and she passed out on the couch, so I slipped them off the table and completed them myself. It asks right on the form if you want to request a room mate, so of course I requested you and, well, here we are!”

Erik’s stomach did another complete turn, mostly in surprised happiness with a hint of concern over why Charles’ mother would ‘pass out’ while filling out forms. Erik’s mother had never passed out from anything and she worked two jobs to put food on the table and keep a roof over their heads.

“No more sleeping in the kitchen.” Erik said staring at Charles, his lips twitching.

“Very disappointing, I know.” Charles frowned in mock seriousness.

“I’m… I’m so glad you’re here.” Erik said sincerely. “Your leg healed well then?”

“A hundred percent back to normal.” Charles nodded. “I am ready for the perfect summer with you, my friend.”

And it was as close to a perfect summer as Erik could ever have asked for. At sixteen, Erik was now one of the taller boys at camp and though Charles had not grown nearly as much - he was still several inches shorter than Erik - he was as fast and skilled as ever. Shaw was as big an asshole as ever, and he never put them on the same side of a scrimmage, but Erik felt more in charge on the field, less intimidated by his peers. He was starting to feel like Shaw’s camp had a purpose. Maybe just maybe, he’d actually be able to get a scholarship to college from his soccer skills.

Erik would have said it was a completely perfect summer, were it not for one small issue – the longer he spent in Charles company the more he… noticed him. He noticed his lively blue eyes. He noticed the freckles on Charles shoulders and across the bridge of his nose. He watched Charles’ wide hands move chess pieces when they played their nightly game in their room together and wondered what it would be like to have those hands touch him. He tried not to stare at Charles thighs and his ass when he stretched before a scrimmage, but he often failed miserably and he lived in fear that one of the other boys might notice.

Erik had no idea what was happening to him, or what he should do about it. At a summer camp full of boys from thirteen to seventeen, most of the talk around the residence consisted of three topics: soccer, food, and girls. Specifically pretty girls and sex. Neither topic particularly interested Erik, and the combination of the two was actually quite a turn off.

At least twice a week, Sean, their very chatty neighbour, would pop his head in their door and invite them to watch a movie. Mr. Howlett had set them up with a collection of movies to watch in the evenings and as far as Erik could see every single one of them was a sports movie: The Might Ducks, A League of Their Own, Remember the Titans and Bend It Like Beckham, were just a few of their extensive collection. Sean had made it his mission to find ‘other’ sources of entertainment, which seemed to involve him somehow getting his hands on a string of teen comedies that often involved female nudity and held absolutely no appeal to Erik at all.

Usually Erik automatically declined the invitation, but tonight Sean was being more annoyingly persistent than normal.

“Come on, guys. Are you both like eighty years old? All you ever do is sit in this room and play chess! I have a great movie for tonight – girls dancing on top of bars in skimpy clothes...” Sean wagged his eye brows suggestively.

“Well we certainly can’t resist that, can we Erik.” Charles chuckled as he stood up, abandoning their game of chess.

Erik followed him reluctantly out of the room and sat down at the back of the room, behind the sofa, and away from Charles who was sitting on the floor and munching away on popcorn. Erik crossed his arms over his chest and hoped for the best – the movie couldn’t possible be that bad, could it?

It was awful. 

There was dancing and drinking and some sort of plot that Erik had no interest in. He could not even imagine what his mother would have had to say about the outfits. If Charles hadn’t been there, laughing and joking with the other boys as if he was having a grand time, Erik would have left after the first ten minutes.

As it was he made it until everyone started ‘ranking’ the main female cast before he got up, hid himself in the bathroom for ten minutes and then snuck into his room.

Erik had always thought it would be him and Charles together, against everyone. But it seemed like this summer everyone else was finally discovering what Erik had known all along – Charles Xavier was smart, funny, and kind and exactly the type of person you wanted to be your friend. Charles fit in. Erik, now alone tucked into his bed in a dark room, did not.

When Charles crept back into the room later that evening, Erik did his best to pretend to be asleep. He turned his body to face the wall and tried to take slow deep breaths. He thought he was doing a pretty good job of it until Charles crawled into his bed and Erik literally jumped in the air in surprise.

“Fuck Charles! You scared the shit out of me!” Erik grumbled.

“I knew you couldn’t be asleep – it’s not even ten o’clock.” Charles poked Erik is the side until he turned around and they were lying face to face. “Why did you leave? Are you alright?”

“I just didn’t like the movie.” Erik shrugged, keeping himself against the wall and doing his best not to let himself touch Charles in any way.

“It was rather silly.” Charles nodded. “You could have told me – I would have left with you and we could have had another match.” Charles said softly.

In the dim light of the room, Charles’ eyes looked huge in his face and Erik had to grip the sheets tightly in his hands to stop himself from doing something stupid, like reaching out and touching Charles’ cheek.

“I thought you were having fun.” Erik frowned, looking away from Charles steady gaze. “With the other guys.”

“I always have more fun with you.” Charles said with his typical sincerity, causing Erik’s heart to lurch in his chest. “Next time, tell me and we can go do something together.”

“Okay.” Erik whispered, not trusting himself to say more.

“Does this remind you of the kitchen?” Charles smiled. “It reminds me of the kitchen. You know, I really like sleeping on a mattress, but sometimes… sometimes I miss being in the kitchen with you, just us in our little makeshift bed together.”

Erik was sure he couldn’t possibly speak in that moment. His whole body was strung so taunt he was sure if Charles touched him, he would shatter.

“Beds are probably better for our spines.” Erik finally got out.

Charles laughed. “Your right, my friend. I suppose we should get some sleep.” Charles sighed. “Good night Erik.”

Erik watched as Charles slipped out of his bed and moved across the room to his own. Erik was happy to see Charles go, and disappointed that he’d left in equal measure.

“Good night Charles.” He replied.

He lay in bed for what felt like hours, willing his erection, that had enthusiastically sprung up when Charles snuck into bed with him, to go away. In the silence, broken only by Charles’ soft huffs and murmurs, Erik wondered how he was going to make it through the last couple weeks of camp without Charles finding out Erik was completely enamored with him.

* * *

Somehow, Erik was hiding his feelings from Charles. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, given that his penis would not stop standing up at attention in their room every night as if it was ever hopeful Charles would hop back into bed with Erik and it could be of some assistance. Figuring out how to wank off to relieve some of the tension without Charles knowing was impossible. Over the last two weeks, Erik had become a master at reciting members of the German national football team in his head until his erection finally subsided.

Part of the reason Erik was able to keep his secret, was the end of the summer match. This year, for the first time, both Erik and Charles had a chance to make the select team that Shaw chose for the end of the summer match against the incoming college squad. The match was supposed to be a friendly one – just the college team getting out the kinks against a bunch of high schoolers after summer break.

Except Shaw made it so much more than that – he invited scouts. College scouts from all over the country to watch the game and show off his pupils.

Erik didn’t like Shaw. He was a hundred percent certain he would never like him. However, he couldn’t disregard how much his game and overall fitness had improved over the past few years because of Shaw and coach Howlett. Erik was at least ten times the player he had been when he started at camp all those years ago. He was fitter, stronger, faster and far more confident.

He desperately wanted to be picked for the game. Out of twenty players, Shaw usually only picked ten boys, but had picked as few as eight if people weren’t playing up to his standards.

Erik wanted to be on that field. He wanted to be on the field so badly he could taste it. It was his opportunity to show his skills to the scouts and he only had this year and next to do that before he ran out of time to get a scholarship for college. Erik knew his mother was doing her best to save money for his education (and he was too – working part time at the Jewish deli down the block all school year), but even with their efforts his college savings account was small. He barely had enough to cover one year’s tuition at this point, let alone housing costs and all the other expenses he would have if he had to move away from home.

His drive and determination to get picked by Shaw for the game might possibly be the only thing that had stopped him from leaning across the chess board at night and kissing Charles until they were both breathless and aching. Or until Charles punched him in the face in horror.

In fact, he’d been so focused on the game, Charles had started to complain about it.

“Erik,” Charles sighed, “we have been out here for twenty minutes. It is pouring rain. Your last five free kicks have been excellent. Can we please, please go inside?” Charles pleaded.

Erik lined up and kicked yet another ball into the net. “I have to be perfect if I want Shaw to pick me for the match.”

“Erik, you’re the best player out there!” Charles stood firm under Erik’s harsh scowl. “Truly, my friend. You are the best player Shaw has. He’d have to be the biggest fool on the planet not to have you on the field. And Shaw may be an interminable ass, but he is not a fool.”

Erik stopped, head hanging, rain pouring down the back of his neck.

“I guess I’ve done enough for today.” Erik conceded, feeling his face heat from Charles’ praise.

“I’m not the best player on the field.” Erik looked over at Charles who simply raised a questioning brow as they walked to the dorms. “You are.” Erik said.

Charles beamed and then bumped his shoulder into Erik’s playfully. Erik couldn’t stop a smile from creeping across his face in return.

“We’ll simply have to agree to disagree, my friend.” Charles chuckled.

* * *

Two days later Shaw announced his selections for the match – both Erik and Charles made the cut. Erik had never been more relieved in his life.

The match itself turned out to be a rollercoaster.

Erik had begun the match practically euphoric; he and Charles were finally playing on the same side, he was getting a chance to show college scouts what he could do, and Charles had force fed him three cherry strudels that morning and Erik could have sworn he could feel the sugar racing through his veins. 

He and Charles both started strong, feeding off of each other. As always, Charles just seemed to know where everyone else would be, but with Erik, he was even more attuned than usual and much to the surprise of their older opponents, Erik scored the first goal thanks to a perfect set-up from Charles.

Their high, unfortunately, couldn’t last. 

Shaw had only selected nine players, and playing against an older more experienced team of twenty, they were soon outmatched, at least partly due to fatigue. Things may have been competitive in the first half, but by the second half, many of their team mates were struggling to keep up the pace.

The other team had also made a very astute observation – Charles was a problem, and they were doing everything they could to limit his impact on the game.

Erik was proud to say both he and Charles showed the grit, determination and stamina that Shaw had been drilling into them the past few summers – they refused to quit. Erik was particularly pleased with how well Charles stymied their opponents; he seemed to be a complex puzzle they simply could not crack, always showing up when they least expected it and getting out of tight corners when pressed by defenders.

Because of Charles’ excellent play, Erik and the other forwards continued to get scoring chances and the coach for the college squad was not pleased.

The bumpy second half came to an abrupt halt at the 73rd minute of the match, when Charles, pinned in the far corner, away from the goal, attempted to get around one of the college defenders. Not able to contain Charles with his footwork, the defender used brute strength instead, elbowing Charles hard in the face, sending Charles to the ground clutching his nose in both hands.

“Charles!” Erik shouted, storming across the field, the defender clear in his sights.

“Lehnsherr!” Shaw’s voice called out in warning. “If you so much as take one more step I will bench you.”

Erik huffed out a frustrated breath – damn Shaw! Interfering bastard. Erik halted, fixing the defender who’d hurt Charles with his best death glare.

It took every ounce of self-control for Erik to obey Shaw’s order and not move closer to Charles. Thankfully, coach Howlett was at his side, guiding Charles gently off the field. Erik could see that the bottom of his face was completely covered in blood.

Charles gave Erik a wan smile as he and coach Howlett passed by.

“He broke your goddamn nose.” Coach Howlett muttered, shaking his head.

Erik felt his heart hammer in his chest and his nostrils flare. Charles’ nose was broken. Charles was bleeding like a stuck pig because some brute couldn’t contain him with actual skill and had resorted to violence. And Shaw, Shaw wouldn’t let him leave the field to tend to Charles’ wounds, nor would he let him punch the offending player in his idiot face.

Erik did the only thing he could – he rallied his teammates through a series of threats and encouraging words and played with the ferocity of an avenging demon.

When Charles had been injured, they’d been down 4-1. Through Erik’s aggression and wildly risky play, they managed one more goal before the whistle blew to end the game.

Frustrated and not the least bit pleased to have shaken hands with the man who’d broken Charles’s nose after the game, all in the name of good sportsmanship (as if the man who'd broken Charles nose was a good sportsman), Erik trudged over to the sidelines and knelt on the grass by Charles’ side.

“How’s your nose?” Erik asked immediately.

“It’s fine Erik.” Charles replied dismissively. 

“You should have gone to the hospital.” Erik grumbled.

“And miss you try to take on a team of college students single-handedly?” Charles arched a brow. “I could hardly miss that.”

“It didn’t work.” Erik frowned.

“You can’t win a football match on your own Erik.” Charles sighed fondly. “Though you made a valiant effort, I will give you that.”

“That brute –“ Erik growled, before stopping mid-thought as Charles reached over and squeezed his hand.

“Do you know, I think we could take them next year.” Charles said, a smile playing on his lips. “A little less aggression, a little more focus and strategy – finding ourselves in that a perfect zone for maximum athletic performance – we could do it, Erik. Together.”

“You’re crazy.” Erik muttered. “I think that blow to your head might have knocked a few things loose in there.”

“We could do it Erik.” Charles continued as if Erik had never spoken. “Imagine if we had a bigger line up, actual subs even, what we could accomplish.”

Erik’s watched as Charles eyes shone with his typical optimistic enthusiasm. It was clearly ridiculous to think they could beat a Division One college team, but he couldn’t bring himself to contradict Charles. How could you say no to your best friend when his nose was still dripping blood down his chin, but he was smiling at you with a twinkle in his eye? How could you possibly break that irresistible spirit? Erik certainly couldn’t.

“Next year, then Charles. Next year.” Erik finally agreed.

“Next year.” Charles smiled.


	5. Summer 2005

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final summer of Shaw's soccer camp.

**Summer 2005**

The last summer. It was his last summer at Shaw’s soccer camp. Erik could hardly believe it. 

Appropriately, the summer began and ended with Charles.

Erik had barely gotten off the bus when he heard a familiar voice shouting his name.

“Erik! Erik!”

Erik turned, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder, to find Charles beside him, face flushed, and a beaming smile plastered across his face.

“Look!” Charles gestured in an up and down motion. “Look!”

Erik looked, but unfortunately had no earthly idea what it was that he was looking for. Whatever it was, Charles was inordinately pleased about it.

“Look at what?” He finally asked, completely lost.

“Look at me!” Charles exclaimed, clearly exasperated.

“I am looking at you.” Erik replied.

‘How can I not look at you?’ Erik thought to himself. How could he possible not look at Charles’ impossible blue eyes, or the bow of his red lips, or that incredibly distracting freckle at the back of his neck? By the end of camp last summer Erik had felt he knew Charles’ body almost as well as his own he’d been sneaking so many furtive looks at it over those four weeks.

“I grew Erik.” Charles explained. “I finally, finally grew!”

Erik bit his lip to suppress a smile and gave Charles a good examination from his toes to the top of his fluffy brown hair. Charles did look a bit taller, though Erik had grown at least another inch or two himself since last summer and had recently surpassed six feet in height. Charles, for all his enthusiasm, was still significantly shorter than that.

“Congratulations, Charles. You’re sure to be taller than all the thirteen-year-olds this year.” Erik teased.

Erik laughed when Charles tackled him to the ground.

“Arrogant sod.” Charles grumbled as they wrestled playfully on the grass. “Stupid tall bastard!”

“You can reach all the things on the high shelves for me!” Erik mocked, as Charles elbowed him in the ribs, causing him to clutch his side and twist away.

Done with being pinned under Charles, and worried other parts of him were about to become much too interested in having Charles sprawled on top of him, Erik heaved Charles off of him and they lay down together, side by side on the grass, panting.

“You’re such a wanker.”

“I think all those extra inches have made you more British.”

“Sod off.” Charles sighed. 

“You’re here early.” Erik noted, turning to look at Charles.

“Mother mixed the dates up and I ended up here a two days ago. Luckily coach Howlett was already on campus. I got to sleep on the floor of his room. He snores – terribly. I’m ever so glad I get to share a room with you again tonight.”

“Glad to be of service.” Erik grinned. 

Standing up again and hauling his things toward the dorms with Charles at his side, Erik felt hopeful. Maybe this summer would be the same as last year – wonderful and torturous by halves, the pleasure of being by Charles’ side and the pain of being his friend and friend only. Or maybe this summer Erik could control his reckless heart and just be; be the best soccer player he could be, be Charles’ friend, be worthy of winning a scholarship. Surely that would be enough.

* * *

Erik may have been trying to keep his focus on one thing – football – but Charles, well Charles clearly had a complex scheme in place for the whole summer; he was going to undermine Shaw.

He was subtle about it, particularly at first. Erik almost didn’t notice what Charles was doing that first week, but over time Charles’ chipper attitude and positive encouragement of the other players caught Erik’s attention. 

Charles had always been a supportive team mate, that was nothing new, but this summer he was supportive and more. He gave others advise; he complimented their every achievement. When Shaw came over and yelled at a young player over their poor form, Charles was always there to temper Shaw’s vitriol with an encouraging word. Off the field, Charles was more obvious; making jokes, playing silly games to keep everyone’s spirits high, and yet always staying focused on increasing everyone’s skills. The common room in the dorm had turned into a place full of young men trying to keep a hacky sack up as long as possible (clearly a ball handling drill in disguise), and the set of a quiz show where Charles quizzed everyone on plays, football history, and rules and regulations all while passing out chocolate bars to the winners.

Charles’ efforts were working. Erik could not recall a year where the boys at camp had been so cheerful and positive. By the end of the first week Shaw was usually guaranteed to have caused at least one boy to tuck his tail between his legs and go home, but not this year. This year when someone was down, they went to Charles and he picked them back up again. Hank McCoy, a shy fourteen-year-old at camp for the first time now followed Charles around like a lost puppy, obviously so attached to Charles he hardly knew what to do with himself when Charles wasn’t by his side.

It was all Erik could do to hold his tongue and by the beginning of their second week at camp he couldn’t contain himself.

“What are you doing?” Erik asked, glaring at Charles over the chessboard between them.

“I’m moving my knight.” Charles replied cheerfully.

“I meant what are you doing with Shaw, with the team? All the compliments, taking McCoy under your wing like a baby chick, the extra drills in the common room, all of it. What’s your end goal?”

Charles leaned back, crossing his arms over his knees and peering over at Erik with his blue eyes wide.

“I told you last year, Erik. We can win this year. We can win that match.” Charles stated confidently. “But we need a full roster to do it – not eight exhausted players run ragged by the 75th minute.”

“Shaw selects the players though. How can you change he choices?”

“I can make us all better! If everyone is exceptional, he’ll have to choose us all!”

“He won’t.” Erik declared firmly and he knew he was right – Shaw would never pick everyone, never.

“Maybe not, but I’d rather make an effort than refuse to believe I can’t make an impact at all.” Charles argued. “Will you help me, my friend?”

Erik furrowed his brow and looked down at his hands. Would he help? How exactly was he supposed to say no to Charles?

“I’m not full of compliments and smiles like you Charles.” Erik muttered.

“But you’re the best ball striker on the team.” Charles pointed out. “You can give the younger boys advise, let them know how to improve. Together Erik… together we can do so much.”

“Fine.” Erik agreed. “Fine. I will help you. But if that McCoy starts following me around like I’m his mother, I am done. Are we clear?” 

“Of course!” Charles beamed. “This is perfect. Just brilliant! By the end of the summer, you’ll see, this will make all the difference.”

* * *

It was hard to argue that Charles was wrong. By the end of week three the team was so devoted to Charles that everyone, Erik included, was getting up at 5:30am for a morning jog around campus. Erik even had a crowd of team mates to who stayed out late on the field with him in the dim evening light practicing free kicks and penalty shots.

Charles worked everyone hard – almost as hard as Shaw. But he rewarded them too. He’d somehow got a box full of water guns and hosted a giant water gun fight; just a bunch of boys running around in their swim trunks, attacking each other with water guns and water balloons on the hottest night of the summer. Even Erik couldn’t deny it had been fun – he’d been grinning from ear to ear when he’d lured Charles in a corner and dropped a bucket of water balloons on his head from the fire escape above him.

Through all Charles' efforts the team became incredibly close knit. The comradery that year was like nothing Erik had ever experienced in his life. People had each other’s backs, players stood up to Shaw on behalf of their team mates, and everyone refused to be pitted against one another the way Shaw liked to do. It was driving Shaw absolutely batty.

Erik was very pleased they were getting on Shaw’s last nerve – the man certainly deserved his comeuppance after years of mistreating young boys all in the name of improving their soccer skills. He was less pleased with his own body’s traitorous response to Charles.

The evening in their room after the water fight had been particularly difficult. Running around playing what was essentially a war game with a half-naked Charles had been one thing, being trapped in the confines of their small dorm room, the two of them standing, hair dripping water, swim shorts clinging to their legs had been something completely different.

Erik tried not to stare – he really tried. But he couldn’t help but track the rivulets of water that traced down Charles’ neck and fell down his chest. How could he not notice the way Charles’ swim shorts stuck to his thighs? Or gape at the thin line of dark hair, such a contrast from Charles pale skin, that disappeared into those shorts?

“You’re staring.” Charles accused and Erik felt himself flush immediately. “Have I got dirt on me?” 

Charles twisted around trying to look at himself from every angle.

Erik hesitantly moved forward. “You have balloon bits stuck in your hair.” He reached forward and picked a bit of yellow latex out of Charles’ hair and held it out as evidence. “See?”

Erik wished his voice didn’t sound so gruff and strangled. He wished that he could keep touching Charles’ hair.

“Oh.” Charles’ soft exclamation interrupted Erik’s heady thoughts.

Now, instead of being distracted by Charles’ hair, Erik was caught by Charles’ deep blue eyes staring into his, shining like pools of water Erik would like nothing more than to sink himself into and never emerge from again.

“Yeah.” Erik jerked back suddenly. “Yeah, there’s a bunch in there.”

He turned away, blinking his eyes furiously. What was he doing? 

He could hear Charles moving around behind him and he closed his eyes, his hands clenched tightly at his sides and tried, really tried to make himself relax.

“Bugger, they just keep falling out.” Charles muttered and Erik couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder to peek at Charles as he towelled off his hair, colourful pieces of balloon falling to the ground as he did. 

“Maybe a shower?” Erik suggested, hoping he sounded normal and not frantic to get Charles out of the room so he could do something about the bulge in his swim trunks.

Charles sighed. “Likely my best option. You know this is all your fault?” He looked pointedly over at Erik. “If you hadn’t cornered me and pummelled me with water balloons this never would have happened.”

“All’s fair in love and war.” Erik replied before he could think about what he was saying.

But Charles only laughed and left the room, towel and shower caddy in hand.

Erik collapsed on his bed, groaned loudly and then indulged in the fastest most desperate wanking session known to man. 

When Charles came back into the room, Erik was on his bed, dressed in his pajamas and reading a book. He somehow managed to have a game of chess with Charles and hold a conversation about the book he’d been reading (Animal Farm), which, of course, Charles had read too. They made it to bed hours later and Erik, exhausted from the anxiety of acting as if he wasn’t always two heartbeats away from kissing his best friend, fell into a deep and dreamless sleep within minutes.

* * *

When the day came for Shaw to announce the team for the final match, Erik couldn’t help but give Charles a sidelong glance and wonder if all his efforts over the last weeks were about to be rewarded.

Shaw started calling out names and Erik started counting; seven, eight, nine. When he passed twelve, he turned to give Charles another look and found his friend standing, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted in disbelief.

That afternoon Shaw called out fifteen names, the most he had ever named to the team in the five summers Erik had been attending camp. Enough names for subs. Charles had done it, he’d given them a fighting chance to stay competitive and maybe, with a bit of luck, win the game.

Game day dawned overcast, with a dull drizzle that felt like it would last all day. Erik decided it was the perfect weather; just rainy enough to annoy the other team and affect footwork, but not bad enough to cause the game to be delayed or canceled. 

When he got to the field, he grinned at Charles, flashing his teeth aggressively.

“Remember: aggression tempered by strategy. If we’re going to win today, we have to think harder, not just play harder.” Charles said.

“I remember.” Erik nodded sharply.

Charles had spent hours in their room going over his notebook full of strategies for today’s game. He’d had profiles on all the players on the opposing team; their stats, their strengths and weaknesses. He’d had plays written out, potential match-ups, and about a dozen different possible lines ups for who would take penalty kicks if they had to break a tie. Erik had difficulty believing Shaw could possibly be more organized a coach than Charles.

Now it was time to put the plan into action, all while still trying to fool Shaw into believing he was in charge, not Charles.

They started slowly, much more slowly than Erik would have liked, but the younger players, likely surprised they were even on the field, were nervous. It took them almost twenty minutes to settle in and start consistently making accurate passes. Thankfully, good defence from the veteran players and some solid play from Erik and Charles kept them close. They managed to end the first half down 2-1.

Shaw, as expected, spent the break in the locker room ranting about their every mistake. As soon as he stormed off toward the field, Charles stood by the door and spoke to each and every member of the team as they left, giving them a piece of advice and encouragement for the second half.

Erik was the last one to leave and was surprised when Charles stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m going to get you the ball, Erik.”

“I’ll be ready.” Erik promised.

And he was. When Charles finally found him, when he lofted the ball high and Erik broke away from the defenders to accept the perfect chip pass, he was more than ready. A sure strike into the left-hand corner of the net and they were tied, 2-2.

Erik was not generally an emotive player, but he roared after that strike.

It was the 84th minute and they were tied with a Division One soccer team. Absolutely incredible.

As one might expect the play turned a rough and dirty after that. The field, damp with rain for hours, became a slipping hazard and pools of random puddles appeared as the rain began to fall harder. Both teams lost players to odd injuries from slips, trips, or collisions. Erik was extremely glad Charles’ efforts had paid off and this year they had enough players to fill in for their injured team mates.

In the end, when the whistle blew, they remained tied, 2-2.

It was both wonderful and awful. Now, left with penalty kicks to decide the winner, they had no control. Shaw was going to choose the line-up and there was nothing they could do about it.

Erik paced restlessly while Shaw and coach Howlett huddle together and decided on their line-up. He stopped immediately when Shaw turned around and started calling names.

Lehnsherr, Summers, LeBeau, Muňoz, Xavier.

Erik saw Charles’ look of shock at hearing his name called – Charles was a proficient striker, but goal scoring was not his forte and Shaw knew it.

“Charles...” Erik closed the distance between them instantly.

“He’s setting me up.” Charles muttered. “He’s picked me knowing I’ll fail just to get back at me for my interference.”

“You’re not going to fail. Charles, look at me.” Erik grabbed Charles by the arms and gave him a shake. “You’re not going to fail. You can do this. It’s just like practice with me: you get behind the ball; you pick your spot and you execute. Simple as that.”

“Simple as that.” Charles’ blue eyes looked back into Erik’s, turbulent and troubled.

“I’ll give us a head start.” Erik vowed with as much confidence as he could muster and it made Charles laugh, which was all he needed.

He stepped up to the ball minutes later after the opposition had already scored, buoyed by Charles’ response and suddenly, the whole thing – all the pressure, all the scouts and scholarships, all Shaw’s nagging and criticism – just disappeared. It was just him, the ball, and the goaltender. 

When the ball struck home – low right hand corner, goaltender too flat footed to react – Erik felt nothing but grim satisfaction. He didn’t crack a smile until he made it to the bench and felt the warmth of Charles’ arms around him, giving him a celebratory hug.

“That was brilliant – you were brilliant, my friend!” Charles beamed.

Watching the next players take the field and make their attempts was far more nerve wracking than his own chance had been. Warren, their goaltender managed to stop the third player who faced him, but as Summers had missed his shot, they were still tied 3-3 on penalties when the final player from the opposing team came up for his shot.

Erik watched the man approach and strike the ball with perfect form, he held his breath as it sailed to the goal, clearly above Warren’s reach, toward the net and then… ping. He’d hit the crossbar. No goal. They had a chance. Charles had a chance.

Erik felt a hand clutch at his, gripping him hard, and he looked down and squeezed back, stomach flipping at the feel of Charles fingers lacing with his own. And then Charles was gone, running out to his place on the field to take his penalty and all Erik could do was watch and flex his tingling hand on the sidelines.

It was agony watching Charles out there, alone, looking almost as small as he had that first summer. Erik would have given almost anything just to stand beside him and let him know it didn’t matter if he made the shot or not, no one would think any less of him. As his team mates hollered and cheered around him, Erik stayed silent and absolutely focused, watching every detail of Charles’ movements; his deep breaths, his stutter step approach, the extension of his leg as he followed through on his strike. Erik barely dragged his gaze away in time to see the ball hit the back of the net.

The sound that erupted from the bench was indescribable. Erik didn’t even realize he was running until he was halfway across the field and Charles launched himself into his arms, legs wrapped around his waist and they were both yelling and crying and laughing, a jumble of overwhelming emotions that couldn’t be contained.

Almost instantly they were surrounded, pulled into a massive group hug that seemed to vibrate with the glory of an unexpected victory. They broke apart, pushed and pulled in different directions by celebrating team mates. Erik found himself unexpectedly lifted up by coach Howlett in a bear like embrace, while across the mass of people Charles was being enthusiastically twirled around by a flushed Hank McCoy.

The celebrations continued for hours; on the field, in the locker room, through dinner in the cafeteria, where even Shaw made an appearance and gave a congratulatory speech (mostly about how the victory was a credit to him and his genius), and coach Howlett showed up with cake and non-alcoholic sparkling cider that he shook up and sprayed on everyone.

Through it all Erik remained distant from Charles. Not purposefully, but yet naturally. Everyone wanted to talk to Charles, everyone had a word of thanks for him and his efforts, and Erik knew he deserved every bit of praise he received. Erik was not going to do anything that might interfere with Charles getting his due. So, he kept his distance. He ate his cake and drank his sparkling cider. He accepted a few words of thanks and congratulations of his own. And he waited.

He slipped away early – of course. Showered and free of the sticky remains of the sparkling cider, Erik laid on his bed, eyes closed and played the summers over in his mind. The first summer and the tentative steps he’d taken with Charles toward a true friendship. The second summer, a bond forged in blood from Charles’ many beatings at the hands of his beast of a step-brother. The agony of his third summer, alone. The revelation of the fourth summer and realizing that though still his friend, Charles was somehow also so very much more than that. And now, this summer, the last summer. Almost at an end and Erik was holding his heart and his feelings so close, with no earthly idea what to do with them.

The door creaked and Erik jerked up, sitting up on his bed in a rush.

Charles walked in, dressed in his soccer kit, covered in dirt and sticky bits of sparkling cider, cheeks still flushed with the excitement of their victory. He had never looked so beautiful.

“Goodness, I’m filthy.” Charles looked down at himself with a rueful shake of his head. “I think Remy dumped an entire bottle of cider over my head. Off to the showers for me.”

And then he was gone, Erik still frozen in place on his bed. It was all just unacceptable. Tomorrow he might have to say goodbye to Charles for good and all he was doing was sitting here on his bed too afraid to act on his feelings. Charles would have done something by now. Charles was bold and brave enough to take on Shaw, to try to change the system. He wouldn’t be afraid of his own feelings.

Erik paced across the small dorm room. He walked, mind racing, thoughts jumbled, hands twitching.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Charles walked in, cheeks pink from the hot shower, wearing his slightly too big striped pajamas and Erik stopped pacing and then surged forward, hands sinking into Charles’ hair, his mouth tentatively brushing against Charles’ plump lips. Erik shivered at the contact and it was his own moan of pleasure that startled him and caused him to step back, stunned at his own actions.

He’d kissed Charles. He’d just grabbed him and kissed him and not even asked for permission.

“I’m… I shouldn’t have… I...” Erik stuttered out.

“Do it again.” Charles said.

“What?” Erik asked, frozen on the spot.

“Come over here and kiss me again.” Charles instructed.

Erik hesitated for half a second and then stepped forward, stopping right in front of Charles. He reached out slowly, his hand touching Charles’ cheek, stroking lightly with his thumb. Erik took a moment to appreciate the flush in Charles’ cheeks, the freckles on his nose, and hitch in his breath as Erik kept touching his face. Then he leaned in and kissed Charles again.

Erik had thought the first kiss was overwhelmingly good, but he’d been wrong. This time, this time it was incredible because Charles was kissing him back. The feel of it, the light friction of Charles’ lips moving against his, the little noises Charles was making in the back of his throat, it was all absolutely perfect. And it got better, as Charles pushed up and their chests bumped together and Erik could feel Charles from his waist to his lips, and Charles hands wound into his hair, holding him close.

Erik let himself get lost; kiss after kiss, touch after touch, timeless and perfect. 

Until a whooping cry from the hall broke the spell and Erik pulled back enough to detach his lips from Charles’ and simply stared.

“I wish you’d done the sooner.” Charles whispered.

“I wish I had too.” Erik admitted, a smile tugging at his lips.

“We have tonight.” 

“I wish we had more.”

“You don’t think this, us, is going to end tonight, do you?” Charles asked. “I would never let that happen. You and I, Erik, are meant to be together.”

“On the soccer field?” Erik asked, hopeful.

“On the soccer field and everywhere else, my friend.”

At that, Erik yanked Charles in close and kissed him once more. And he kept kissing him until they both fell asleep on his bed, arms wrapped around each other, legs entwined, just as Erik hoped their lives would be entwined for years to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the epilogue and more fluffy goodness :)


	6. Epilogue

**Summer 2014**

“Relax.”

“I can’t relax. This is the most important match of my life.” Erik grumbled.

He shifted restlessly on the bed until a weight settled over him, pinning him to the bed.

“More important than our last match at summer camp?” Charles asked, voice playful.

“This isn’t a time for jokes.” Erik protested, trying to move.

“Come on, love, lie still, let me help you.” Charles hushed him, running his hands along Erik’s naked back. “A good massage should be just the thing.”

Erik huffed out a breath and kept still. Charles’ massages were always worth it; his strong hands knew exactly where Erik was most tense and how to loosen him up. As Erik let himself sink into the bed, feeling Charles’ finger dig into his muscles and his lips glide over his shoulder, he smiled – Charles’ never just gave a massage.

Later, wrung out and sated, Charles sprawled on top of him, Erik couldn’t keep a smile off his face.

“Thank you.” He murmured, nuzzling into Charles’ minty scented hair.

“My pleasure, love.” Charles replied. “Always happy to fuck you into a state of bliss before a match.”

Erik snorted and rolled Charles over until he hovered over him with a grin.

“Where are you going to be during the match?” He asked, nipping playfully at Charles’ lower lip. 

“I’m a few rows back, behind the bench.”

Erik nodded and gave Charles a slow, languid kiss. He always liked to know where Charles would be for a match. He preferred being on the field together, but that was impossible now. 

A World Cup final. A chance to bring the cup home for Germany. The kind of opportunity many players never got in their lifetime, and Erik had a chance.

Ever attuned to his every mood, Charles cradled his face in his hands. “It’s just another game, Erik.”

Erik frowned and shook his head and Charles tightened his grip and held him still.

“It is. An important game – yes. The most important game perhaps, but still, just a game. When it’s over you’re still a man who plays football for a living. You’re still a good, honest, wonderful man. You’re still the man I love. Win or lose.”

“Shouldn’t you be giving me a pep talk about how my team has the talent and grit it takes to win?” Erik grumbled.

“Your coach will do that later today.” Charles shrugged. “And he’ll be right, you do have what it takes to win. I want you to know, that no matter what, after the game I will be there. I will be there, and I will kiss the daylights out of you, and we will go home and play football together again. No matter what.”

Erik felt his heart expand in his chest and wondered, not for the first time, how it was that he had found this man, this perfect man, in a cold deserted kitchen all those summers ago.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“I love you too.” Charles replied.

They stayed on the bed, tangled together and kissing until Erik’s alarm went off and he had to leave to join his team for the match.

* * *

Hours later, physically exhausted and emotionally elated, having traded celebratory embraces with his team mates and swapped shirts with his opponents, Erik scanned the crowd, eyes frantically searching the rows behind the bench. Finally, he found him.

Charles was standing, motionless, hands over his mouth, tears streaming down his cheeks on the sidelines. Erik's heart ached and he had to grit his teeth and tell himself to stay put and not go over and wrap Charles up in his arms in front of the tens of thousands of fans in the stadium. Instead he jerked his head toward the tunnel that lead under the stadium and held up his hand, spreading his fingers out. He waited until he saw Charles jerkily nod and hold his hand up in return.

Waiting the five minutes to run over to the tunnel felt like a lifetime. Around him, his team mates milled about, celebrating, slapping each other on the back. Erik took the time to thank the coach, the trainers, and all the support staff for their efforts. It kept his mind off of Charles for a few minutes and the praise was well deserved.

When he slipped away, unnoticed a few minutes later, the walk through the hordes of people was like a dream. His only focus was the tunnel and entering the silence there felt surreal. Erik kept walking, but couldn’t help feeling untethered and a little bit lost.

And then he heard his name and the sound of footsteps and Charles was in his arms. The ground beneath his feet solidified once more and as his lungs inhaled the familiar scent of Charles’ hair, everything was right and real again.

Charles kissed him, messy and jubilant and Erik kissed him back, trying his best to ease Charles’ shimmering excitement, running his hands slowly down Charles’ back until the shakes and tremors finally stopped.

“I’m so proud of you.” Charles managed a few minutes later, his eyes red, sniffling every few seconds to keep his nose from running.

“Together, Charles.” Erik declared, holding firm to both Charles’ hands. “I want to do this together.”

At Charles’ befuddled look, Erik dropped down to one knee.

“Together?” He asked, voice gruff with emotion.

“Are you… are you asking me to marry you?” Charles squeaked out.

“Yes.” Erik nodded. “What do you say Charles? Together forever?”

“Yes. I say, yes!” Charles cried and tackled him until they were both sitting on the cold concrete floor, smiling, tears streaming down their cheeks.

“I can’t believe you proposed to me after winning the World Cup.” Charles laughed.

“I have the ring back in the hotel room. I didn’t want to lose it on the field...” Erik explained, running his fingers over Charles’ knuckles.

“You planned this?”

“I thought… I thought if I didn’t have the World Cup, I could at least have you.”

“You’ve always had me, Erik. Always.” Charles linked their fingers and squeezed his hand tightly.

“I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen. Did I ever tell you that?” Erik confessed.

“Well I’m glad you caught up.” Charles smiled. “I’ve been in love with you since you made that makeshift bed in the kitchen when I was twelve.”

“I thought that camp was going to teach me about football, and it did, but meeting you there, having a friend, having you beside me meant so much more.” Erik said sincerely.

“Now I’ll be beside you for the rest of our days. How does that sound?” Charles whispered as he placed a gentle kiss on Erik’s palm.

“Perfect. It sounds perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is complete and I plan to post a chapter every couple days.
> 
> Each chapter will cover one summer (plus an editional epilogue). 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think - comments sustain me.


End file.
